


Dramatis personæ

by narsus



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-19
Updated: 2011-06-19
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:39:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narsus/pseuds/narsus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John finds himself exposed to a little unexpected melodrama, some show tunes and a trip to the Diogenes Club.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dramatis personæ

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to the BBC, Mark Gatiss & Steven Moffat, and obviously in the genesis of it all, to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

What surprises John the most as he pushes open the door is the sheer barrage of sound that greets him. The tune is vaguely familiar but he can’t quite place it. Whatever it is, it’s on repeat because the refrain starts up again as he reaches the top of the stairs. Pushing open the living room door reveals Sherlock sat on the couch, cigarette hanging limply from one hand, staring intently at nothing.

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock holds up a hand for silence as the music swells and the singer belts out a line that John’s absolutely certain ought to be familiar:  
 _“And I know it’s only in my mind, that I’m talking to myself and not to him.”_  
Only the other day, several of his co-workers had been discussing the latest cast recording of _Les Mis_ and in particular talking about certain songs. Of course John is surprised that Sherlock would have any interest in that sort of thing.

“So...” John begins as the song winds down.

Sherlock stops the music, that’s actually playing though his laptop rather than anything else, and takes a drag of his cigarette.

“I agree with her sentiment.”  
“Oh. Wait, what?”  
“Of course Éponine knows that Marius doesn’t love her.”  
“Alright...”  
“It doesn’t matter.”  
“Okay. I just- Sherlock, what are you talking about?”

There’s no response and Sherlock turns his gaze back to whatever point in space he’d been staring at before John started talking.

“Right then. I’ll... just make us some tea then, shall I?”

John’s contemplating the half finished packet of chocolate digestives, while the tea steeps, when the music starts up again. The same track on repeat. As far as John recalls of the story, which isn’t much at all, the piece is sung by one of the female characters who is in love with a man who is already in love with somebody else. In fact, if John really stretches his memory, he’s almost certain that the character who sings the piece dies in the end, in the arms of the man she loves. And Sherlock has just said that he agrees with the sentiment.

“So, who is he?” John asks, as he sets a mug down on the table, in front of Sherlock.  
“Who?”  
“Your Marius.” John fetches his own mug and a plate of biscuits and comes back to sit down, with an expectant expression on his face.

Sherlock stubs out the remains of his cigarette with a wry smile. “Would you believe me if I told you he was the most dangerous man you’ll ever meet?”  
“ _Oh_.”  
“Precisely.”  
“That’s... well, that’s...”  
“Not normal? Define ‘normal’.” Sherlock responds, challengingly.  
“Well... I suppose... not listening to Les Mis because of your unrequited love for the most dangerous man in the world?”  
Sherlock laughs.  
“I mean, it’s not _normal_ normal exactly.”

It isn’t normal in the slightest if they really are talking about the same person. Not that normal includes things like regarding your brother as the most dangerous man in the world to start with.

“Do you really...?” John has to ask.  
“God, yes.”  
“But I thought you said-“  
“Of course he irritates me too.”  
“Right. Oh, wait, is that why you two don’t...” John trails off.  
“Who says we don’t?”  
“You- I’m... I’m just going to stop talking.”

The last line of _“I love him, but only on my own.”_ rings though the living room.

 

Two days later, John comes home to the distinct refrain of Michael Crawford’s voice singing something that sounds like it’s probably from _Phantom of the Opera_. He’s expecting to find Sherlock sprawled on the couch again, prepared to share some new revelation, which is why it takes him a moment to realise that Sherlock’s standing by the windows when he enters the room.

“Sher-“ John begins, and then chokes on his words.

Sherlock’s eyes are closed, his head tilted back, Mycroft’s hand in his hair. Mycroft’s lips are against Sherlock’s throat, his other arm pulling Sherlock possessively close.

 _“The games we played till now are at an end.”_

The sheer volume of the lyrics probably drown out John’s hastily cut off greeting.

 

Having made a quick exit, John briefly considers finding the nearest pub and is in fact seriously contemplating it, when his phone rings. The black car that pulls up to the curb looks like one of Mycroft’s but the voice on the end of the line is Lestrade’s.

“Get in the car.”  
“But- what-“  
“You’re going to the Diogenes Club.”  
“The wh-“

John doesn’t even get the chance to finish his question as Lestrade abruptly hangs up. He does get into the car at least, but that’s because he can’t really think of anything else to do.

 

The facade of the Diogenes Club corroborates John’s suspicion that whatever this club actually is, he’s going to be woefully underdressed in jeans and a jumper. Nevertheless the doorman lets him in and the reception staff don’t immediately throw him out. Everywhere around him is marble or oak panelling, leather chairs and potted palms, and this is just the entrance hall. He’s not even sure if he should be relived or not when he sees Lestrade descending the main staircase, dressed far more elegantly than John’s ever seen before.

“What... actually, I’m not even going to ask.”  
Lestrade grins. “Sign in first and then I’ll explain.”

John dutifully signs his name in the visitor’s book and is in the middle of handing the fountain pen back to the attendant when he catches sight of movement out of the corner of his eye. It’s not the movement particularly that captures his attention, it’s just someone walking past to the exit, but rather the person. It takes him a moment to realise that it’s a woman, but a woman who looks suspiciously like his flatmate, right down to the tailoring of her suit. She meets his gaze and nods sharply as she strides past. John questions Lestrade with a glance as the doors close behind her.

“That was Mrs Holmes.”  
“Sherlock’s mother?”  
Lestrade takes John’s arm and begins to guide him towards the staircase. “The Diogenes Club was founded by Mycroft Holmes the Fourth...” He begins, by way of explanation.

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock is listening to “On My Own” from _Les Misérables_ and “The Point of No Return” from _Phantom of the Opera_.


End file.
